I May Not Say The Words As Such, But I'm Yours
by Scared of Scars
Summary: Sara has just fled Gotham City, and she adjusts to life without ever fearing the Joker, or Batman, will ever find her. When war hits the small town in Kenya, she is forced to return to her old life. Meanwhile a new villain is terrorizing Gotham. The Jokers' rein of terror is over, but the Riddlers' has just begun. Please note that this is a sequel to my first batman story.
1. Prologue

**This is the sequel to my first Batman story. It may be a little boring, but I want the audience to understand Sara's feelings towards her new home. I also want to give you an insight into what she will be doing while in Africa. Reviews and favorites are appreciated immensely.**

The blinding rays of the sun radiated into the earthen ground and bounced off asphalt. Each released the extreme heat upon the innocent people of Kenya.

If the heat wasn't enough, humid air clung on tightly. Slithering through throngs in seconds, it left high levels of perspiration in its wake. Doing the job it had been tasked with, the humidity twirled around my thighs slowly working up to my neck. My pores cleansed themselves and I breathed in deeply, exploring this new feeling inside of me.

It seemed as if I had been carrying one hundred pounds in a knapsack and it diminished to seventy-five pounds. No one here knew who I was. I would be able to go off in a different direction in which my career would not involve law enforcement. Africans would never find out about my past. The thought lifted another fifty pounds off my shoulders. It would be highly improbable that the people native to this country got news of the outside world. If the issue were to arise, I'd simply move to s remote town in a remote location. Another ten pounds disappeared. The only problem was…what would I do to bring in money?

I quickly stopped my train of thought. I had just gotten here and after a nine hour flight, I was not about to begin stressing about the future. There would be plenty of time for that, I thought smugly, because I just knew that a certain friend of mine back in Gotham would not be successful in locating me for awhile.

. . . . . . .

"Venir ici pour acheter délicieux poulets," a man exclaimed from a street vendor.

«فاكهة! هنا لشراء فاكهة,» another yelled from across the street.

After exiting the twelve seater air plane I had traveled on. I took it upon myself to explore the environment I had chosen as my new residence. Currently walking through the downtown open-air market, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Men and women threw silken garments, woven baskets, guavas, and meats, covering the path my eyes were trained on.

The worst part about my ordeal was that I didn't understand a single word each person said! Some spoke French, others clicked while they bellowed out their dialect.

Claustrophobia took hold of my mind, focusing on the individuals closing in around me. Fearing what would happen if my feet did not move, I pushed through the crowd and yelled helplessly, "Does anyone speak English?!"

In my panic, I looked around frantically for anything I could recognize, anything that reminded me of _home_. I stumbled and fell. Crumpled in the dirt, I started to regret my split second decision. Maybe I'd be able to go ba-. No, I can't go back, I argued with myself.

People passed by oblivious to my internal conflicts. They only saw a girl laying down staring in ahead of herself.

After a few moments, I finally took notice in what was before me. A man with skin dark as night sat on a stool at somewhat of a station. His white hair off-set the darkness of his body and I watched him closely.

He began adding ingredients of powder, leaves, and seeds into a bowl. After throwing in the last pieces to the puzzle, the man crushed his concoction together and then added the paste to hot water.

Bewildered, I gingerly stood up. Ancient wounds of the past ached in protest. Curiosity spread throughout mulling the cries of pain. I walked over observing the bubbling potion. Maybe this man was a witch doctor. The crinkles around his eyes from laughter countered my thoughts. He seemed like a nice man. I tried to retrieve any memories of witch doctors, but the only thing that came to mind was an old Scooby-Doo episode. Intuition spoke softly into my ear, urging my body to move forward.

The man grabbed the mug. He handed it a naive woman whose abdomen was bulging slightly. She was pregnant. The woman lifted the cup to her lips. "No! Don't drink that!" I shrieked running over to the tent.

"Why shouldn't she? I _am_ a doctor," the man replied in perfect English.

"What kind of doctor?" I asked skeptically.

"A healer. I use natural herbs and remedies," he answered, nodding to the woman. She drank the medicine.

"Can you explain to me what you do? In greater detail of course-"

"Joseph, my name is Joseph. And you are?"

"Sara," I replied with a warm smile. Joseph returned my smile with a wide grin of his own. He grabbed one of my hands carefully, "Child, you have been through much. I can see it in your eyes. If there is anything you need, please do come talk to me."

I tried to smile this time, but I couldn't help but think of Alfred as Josephs' courteous and wise words were spoken.

I knew Joseph felt my sadness for he began to speak again, "Ah yes, you wanted to know of what I do. My remedies are not for wounds only. They also involve the mind and spirit. The woman that was here before, she wanted to give birth to a healthy child. After examining both the mother and unborn child, I created a tea from sage and banana leaves to relax her mind. There is nothing worse for the baby than a stressful environment, that makes it want to leave a lot sooner than it had planned for," he spoke on, glancing into my eyes as he finished the last sentence.

I straightened up, squirming under his watchful stare. I wasn't a believer in fate, but something prophetic happened to lead me to a man who spoke English and reminded me so much of Alfred. I knew this was Gods' way of telling me, this is what you were meant to do here. So, when the words left their cell, I did not regret them one bit.

"Can you teach me your ways Joseph?" I asked, preparing myself for the adventure that lay ahead.

**There you go chaps! It may be a little boring, but it will definitely pick up in the next couple chapters. Don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!**

**~Cece**


	2. Chapter 1

**HEY! Okay so prologue is done! Now time for the interesting part! Just to clarify something that popped up a couple times, No Bane will not be in this story, I know I stuck close to the movie for the Joker, but for this one I want to introduce the Riddler and possibly Mr. Strange. Once again ****Bane will NOT be in this story**** what-so-ever. Thanks for the consistent feedback, Love you guys!**

_One Year Later..._

The purple fringes of sunrise faded into the Amazon-like backdrop as the sun rose higher and higher into the never-ending sky. Dew eased off the veins of a nearby papyrus plant. Each molecule in each bead of liquid took its time lazily riding down the path laid out before it and then free-falling towards the dark soil beneath it. Birds tweeted softly, completing the relaxing landscape.

This was the two hundred and sixth morning I had the joy of experiencing in Randa, Djibouti. For the other one hundred and fifty nine days, Joseph sent me to different areas around Kenya in search of specific herbs I would use during my lessons.

He wanted me to understand the fact that there would be no Wal-Mart five minutes away to go pick up mangos whenever I fancied.

I learned quickly to grab a great quantity of a certain ingredient. Not just what I needed at the time. People weren't perfect, they made mistakes. In my case, there were many.

I was always disciplined for taking more than I could chew as well. "Why did you grab so much of that root? Do you want to kill the patient?" Joseph would criticize, pulling out half the amount I had taken.

Afterwards he would slap my hand lightly, "Child, you must learn that certain things should not be so potent. It will worsen the health of the ailing innocent." At the beginning I hung my head in shame, but eventually I learned that with Joseph it was tough love.

After months of training, I learned simple remedies that involved fish oil for stomach aches or honey for infected wounds. Joseph also taught me spiritualism. You know, to be one with your body, yada yada yada. The thought seemed ridiculous to me. How can a person use their body to diagnose issues without using their hands? We'd always have the use of X-Rays and such, so why learn about this?

It dawned on me after awhile, if the job called us out to the middle of nowhere, there would be no luxury of MRI's. I'd only have my mind to assess the issue or my fingers to poke and prod. Intuition would play a key role in my new career. Joseph always felt the need to reassure me that soon, I wouldn't need the use of my fingers at all.

Through the days that passed, we learned little bits of information about the other. Before becoming a healer, Joseph had been part of the militia fighting to free child soldiers. He had a wife and child hiding in Sierra Leone waiting for safe passage to the Caribbean. A raid where they were staying left no one alive. Within a blink of an eye, Joseph's family was gone.

My heart wept for his loss. I knew the endless torture he endured day to day. He needed to know I felt his pain, so I decided to tell him about Rachel. The tiny glimpse into my past released hidden tears that I never wanted to cry again, Joseph would never see me this weak again.

That had been the only timed I shared my previous life. He asked about America often. Where I had lived, whether I liked it or not. Questions as such popped up unexpectedly whenever he caught me absentmindedly tracing the crescent moon scar lashed out on my cheek.

It had turned ghostly white, standing out on my sun kissed skin. Even trying to run away from my past, I couldn't pull a "Hakuna Matata" like Simba did in the Lion King, because the scar left unanswered questions wherever I went. But the scar wasn't the only altered part to my appearance. The long brown locks to my unruly oceanic hair, no longer cascaded down my back, but bobbed to my jaw. Not only was the length less maintenance, but it added to my disguise. I didn't need one at all apparently, because Joseph had something up his sleeve.

We packed up and with four months of training Joseph established me as a physician on the coast of Africa in northern Djibouti.

At first I wasn't respected because of the color of my skin. Ironic much? Winter came, a flu went around and in exchange for hospitality I cured illnesses. After practice, I learned the native tongue spoken in amongst the villagers, French.

"Ma soeur! Ma soeur! Les garçons blancs sont ici!» «_Sister! Sister! White men are here!"_ A young girl exclaimed, grabbing onto my hands.

She pulled me forward, pointing towards a banner that had "Change Exchange" scrawled neatly in black lettering. There had been talk of Randa getting a school built for the two hundred children in residence to get an education.

Four more unexpected tugs and I was interspersed into a crowd surrounding the town well. I was the black sheep in the crowd and it was easy to point me out. And everyone felt it was their duty to push me to the front of the crowd to be with the group white men.

Once there, Joseph beckoned me forward, "Come child, there is someone you need to meet." He saw hesitation in my eyes and when my feet did not move, he motioned for someone. A firm hand propelled me off to the left and my body roughly collided with another.

"Whoops, careful there," the business man spoke, a smile gracing his lips.

The usual calm air, felt stuffy between us. The man's Armani pin stripe suit, clung tightly to his muscular frame grasping for air. His foreign blue eyes were vaguely familiar. The deep oceans of mystery were clouded with a barrier. My eyes traced the contours of his face to his well groomed hair. Then everything clicked. This man did not achieve his muscular physique from weights, but from climbing building and beating villains to a pulp with his bare hands. His blue eyes were the only visible part behind the mask he wore while doing these acts as his alter ego, the masked vigilante.

Surprise escaped his well hidden emotions. He recognized me. I had been found out. I wanted to run away, fast. In a half attempt to escape, I gave up instantly. His hands were handcuffed to my arms; I wouldn't have been able to get away even if I put forth the effort. Confusion swirled around me and the only word I managed to speak came out.

"Bruce?"

**Ooooo... Cliffhanger! Special thanks to everyone who told me how the sequel was! Thank you guys so much for everything! Please don't forget to review and favorite!**

**~Cece**


	3. Chapter 2

**So I got a overwhelming response to the last couple chapters. Thanks so much you guy, it's good to know that my story is getting read! Don't stop reviewing!**

_Bruce's POV_

One year I spent searching the globe for her; joining a variety of organizations and charities to maintain my visage, for her. "Feed The World" would meet in London, I'd be there for the meeting. Afterwards I'd spend day and night scouring the city for any indication Sara was there.

By day I would search city archives at the downtown core. Hacking telephone lines and credit card bills became second nature to me. Spending hours behind my laptop had become monotonous and I often longed for darkness to fall. Night turned into my sanctuary to live up my play boy image at the local clubs and to feel the surge of adrenaline whenever I'd jump from roof top to roof top as Batman.

France, Switzerland, Russia, Japan, I spent a maximum time of a week in each major city of the country I was visiting.

Keeping up the life of Bruce Wayne was easy enough, but if sightings of Batman were released wherever I happened to be, the news networks would get suspicious. While Bruce was away form Gotham, Batman had to keep a low profile.

It didn't bother me much in the beginning, but the more time I spent away from the city, the crime rate rose steadily.

Batman slowly lost his purpose.

Five months of searching here and there, I decided to take a three month hiatus. Claiming that I was suffering from exhaustion, Batman regained strength.

The time I spent at the manor seemed like a rest and recuperate session to Alfred. He figured a little TLC would help me through my 'heartbreak' as he called it. Only to me it wasn't heartbreak. I _would_ find Sara and she _would _come back after we sorted things out.

A lingering thought sent a painful blow to my stomach. The shock waves from contact vibrated away, exemplifying her tear stricken face. What if she didn't want to come back?

The pain became too great then. I forced myself to sit and treat the conjecture like many 'what if' questions of the past. I had to treat it like nothing to keep the tiny glimmer of hope from being blown out completely. _I just had to_.

She was the reason my days were spent locked away in the study hunched over maps with nothing but coffee to keep my body from shutting down. Hours upon hours I carefully planned out my next destination.

Sara was too intelligent to stay in the United States. It would be too easy to locate where she was, because she'd refuse to create an alias. She detested lying. Sara was above that. And that's what got me into this mess, I thought drearily.

She made sure I could find her as well. Her airplane ticket was bought with cash and her cell phone had been thrown away in an airport trash can. Years on the force trained her to cover every millimeter of her trail.

I glanced back down at the map. My eyes fell on Africa. The continent was full of strife, I thought. Enough violence in Gotham left Sara not willing to receive more. The few countries at peace were too commercialized to get caught or remote locations that did not understand English. Africa would be one of the last places I checked, therefore I marked Brazil. It was time for a "vacation".

Two months later I found myself a foots length away form Wayne Tower, empty handed yet again.

Bruce Wayne rejoined the world of Gotham, engaging himself in the public eye once more. Meetings, endless parties, and crime became my life for a few short days. That is, until I got invited to go along with the "Change Exchange" to Djibouti to see the building sites of twenty schools I helped create with my 'handsome donations'. As a leading sponsor, the organization wanted to ensure my money was being used and _I _wanted them to leave me alone. Frustrated, I threw their letter onto the counter.

Later that night, Alfred dropped the letter on a blown-up portion of Argentina. "Africa may hold the answer you seek Master Wayne," he spoke with an all-knowing expression.

One week later I found myself trudging through the pitiful town of Randa. I didn't want to be here, unlike the handful of other business men that followed behind me to the stone well. I sighed as villagers clustered around us, wondering about the commotion.

I turned to face an elderly gentleman whose name was Joseph. He spoke on behalf of the people sharing his gratitude freely.

I looked amongst the crowd and noticed a woman. Her tanned skin seemed stark white against the surrounding bodies. Swirls of brown locks perched atop her head, but the dead give-away as to who she was happened to be the pale crescent moon that imperfected her flawless skin.

Her frame was leaner, but her big beautiful brown eyes were still the same. Though they twisted in surprise as she took me in, I couldn't help but smile. I had found Sara.

**Alrighty, that's it! He found her, I just don't know if she actually WANTS to leave. Well I guess you'll find out soon! So as I said before, all reviews are welcome and appreciated! **

**~Cece**


	4. Chapter 3

"Sara, it seems you have met Mr. Wayne already, "Joseph spoke.

All he did was save my like, I thought. Images of the past weaving themselves into niches of the sentence. Weak threads of white portrayed visions of multiple times Batman came to my rescue. Black threads stronger than titanium whisked me away to a freight train bound for hell. Rachel's death and the black suit hidden in the manor that haunted my nightmares became the scenery outside the panes of glass.

Bruce's voice plucked me from my dark memories. "Yes, we have," he spoke with a smug smile.

Why was he smiling? _He _put me through all this pain. And for now, Bruce needed to be put in his place.

A confused expression washed over my distraught face as I said, "Monsieur? Je ne te comprend pas." _"Sir? I don't understand you."_

Wrenching my arms out of Bruce's iron grasp, I turned to Joseph and with a curt nod, I fled the group. Bruce followed.

Subconsciously I knew this day would come. I always figured the anger would eventually die away in years to come. By then all memories between us would be gone; incinerated to dust.

I could never have imagined the intense emotions I felt seeing Bruce again. I wanted to slap him till he was bleeding profusely, but a small part of myself held onto our intimacy and therefore I wanted to kiss him at the same time. Both emotions clashed, leaving me confused.

"Sara, your little act won't work on me."

"I better send back my Oscar then," I replied bitterly.

He grabbed onto my upper arm again, "All my searching won't go to waste, because you refuse to talk to me," he said pulling me back.

"You _searched_ for me? You make me sound like another criminal," I spat. "Truly though, I'm surprised it took you so long to find me. Did your _duties_ pose as an issue?"

"Regrettably, yes it did," he whispered.

"Bruce, when will you learn? Batman will hold you back from the most precious things in life. Marriage, family, and me…" as the sentence ended, I heard my voice decrescendo to nothing but a wavering whisper.

"Dammit Sara, don't pretend that you ever cared."

"How dare you say that, I've always cared," I argued.

I brought one of my quivering hands to his moist cheek. Bruce's steel eyes scrutinized every move I made. He was still on the defense. "Bruce, I loved you. I loved Batman too," I said solemnly stroking his cheek.

He opened his mouth to speak. I silenced him, placing my finger on his lips. "It broke my heart when I found out the two people I cared about the most were one man. Bruce, a relationship is built upon trust. We never had that. All those cherished moments were a lie," I spoke, never realizing that tears were falling freely down my face.

"You couldn't love us both Sara. Even if you wanted to," he responded harshly, not phased by my acts. Bruce removed my hands from his face and stalked in the opposite direction. Even after a year, our unspoken words still stung. And for the first time within that year, I relaxed every muscle in my body to await the oncoming wave of nostalgia.

. . . . . . .

For an hour I wept over our childish argument. Joseph eventually found me. He retracted away from me like I was a vicious monster. My back was hunched, I was shaking uncontrollably, and the sobs growling through my body made me picture perfectfor a cheesy 1980's horror film.

Despite my frightening appearance, Joseph put a hand on my shoulder. His gentle gesture chiseled a warm smile onto my stone cold face.

"Come child, tis time to go back and warm ourselves by a giant bon fire," he spoke softly.

His hand entered my peripheral vision. I still didn'tlike the perception in which I looked weak to Joseph. With that in mind, I stood up without his help. He slowly guided me through the intricate paths laid out in the jungle. After ten minutes, we padded over to a blazing fire. The wooden stools were empty.

"Sit, sit," he said light-heartedly.

Plopping down into the dirt, I traced tiny patterns of swirls and triangles. Measly shapes didn't last long because I got bored, so I upgraded to drawing stick figures, animals, and buildings. His voice made me cringe away from my immature drawings; I wasn't ready for another confrontation.

"I did it for the people, not for me," he spoke.

"You did what?" I asked softly.

"Created Batman. Somehow you seem to think I did it to run away from fears. I wanted to create a symbol of hope for Gotham. I could only do so much as Bruce, but as Batman I was able to do more," he informed me.

"I'm sorry, for blowing up in your face earlier. It was uncalled for."

"That's got nothing to do with what I'm talking about," Bruce chuckled. "But you're not the only one who played a part in it. I'm sorry for arguing as well."

"I've only got one question though, where did you go for those seven years if you weren't running away?"

"I did run away. For years I had blamed my parents' death on my fear of bats. As I got older, I blamed it on crime and the man who pulled the trigger. Not only did I want to get rid of my fear, I wanted to travel and learn the ways of crime and all its different forms." he explained.

I watched his eyes change in each direction the conversation went. Somberness through his parents' death, anger from his past with the League of Shadows, and they twinkled whenever he talked of seeing Alfred and Rachel again. After an hour, I had relived eight years of Bruce's life.

After that, the conversation turned to our many adventures together. "We turned out to be a great team, eh?" I spoke laughing.

"Yeah, we did," he replied, his face hardening, "That's why I've come to ask you to come back with me Sara. Everyone needs you back in Gotham."

I sighed, "I'm happy here Bruce. I don't want to leave."

Before we could argue once again, I stood up and went to my home.

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, so far I have a concrete idea of where i want this story going and its all thanks to you guys. Again thanks so much and don't forget to review. Cheers!**

**~Cece**


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Got this done, it's just a short filler chapter. Enjoy!**

That night, insomnia plagued my sleep. I was left alone with nothing, but my thoughts. It turned out to be a worse fate than any nightmare my subconscious could devise. The Gordon's seemed to be the subject of interest.

What had Jim been up to? Did he hate my decision? Had he put together clues as to where I was? What did the boys look like?

I cursed Bruce for planting the bug in my ear. He knew that I'd rack my brain till the earl hours of the morning to find answers to my questions and solutions to my problems. The main priority was how to contact everyone in Gotham without leaving Djibouti and to keep Bruce happy enough to leave me alone.

The simplest solution would be to go back. Bruce's intentions were clear. If I read between the lines, that plan happened if I _willingly_ left. Surely there was a back-up plan in that ingenious mind on his if I did not cooperate.

"Why does he have to be so…so difficult!" I exclaimed.

"Who?" Joseph inquired walking into my reed hut.

His name came out as an exasperated sigh, "Bruce. He wants me to come back to Gotham with him."

"And you refused?" his face now held a puzzled expression.

"I don't want to leave," I stated.

"What is holding you back child?"

"I think it's you Joseph. You've been my rock for the past year and I don't even want to entertain the idea of leaving you behind."

"My dear, things will be clearer in the morning," were his parting words, followed by an order to get some sleep. And in typical Joseph fashion, he left me mystified.

I stretched out to the length of my make-shift bed of leaves and a woven mat that was slung atop the vegetation, I closed my eyes. Instantly I was reentered into another all-to-real terror.

My sight was reduced to blackness and all that could be heard were gunshots slicing the elements. Splitting wood and helpless cries followed after.

In attempt to erase the frightened noises from all my senses, I snapped my eyes open. From there, the real nightmare began.

Outside my door a battle ensued. Children starting at the age of eight clutched advanced weaponry and shot the brothers of their fathers. Bullets were fired in every direction, swirling past their intended targets. These children still had a lot to learn.

I snatched my hand-gun from inside an urn and took aim at the child soldiers' hands. Skills from police training pumped through my adrenaline filled veins, perfecting every shot.

Eventually the men behind me fell less frequently, but as I looked behind me only on stood out. His elderly composure gave way to the greed of the flesh addicted bullet lodged in his chest. He slumped over, falling to his knees. Before his body could hit the tainted earth, I caught him.

"Joseph! Joseph!" I called for him.

Tears dangling from my lashes, released themselves cleaning the dirt from Joseph's face.

His eyes opened briefly. He smiled whenever he recognized me. "Child, don't cry," he whispered.

I clenched onto his shirt and shrieked through sobs, "You can't leave me here alone!"

"You will never be alone," he choked, heaving his final breath.

. . . . . .

The phone rang in Commissioner Gordon's office. He let it go to voicemail. He has more important things to tend to.

For a year he went back to catching petty criminals whom had reverted back to stealing grannies' purse. Anything considered being illegal, he hustled to get the individual convicted. Jim did not want a felon like the Joker roaming the streets reeking havoc ever again. But he knew something was coming. He felt it. And it was something big.

A soft knock caught Gordon's attention. The person behind the door received his full attention whenever he realized who they were.

"Wow, you look like shit," Jim spoke.

"Nice to see you too, she said with a smile. "I was wondering if you've kept my badge shiny."

"It's been waiting for you to come claim it for awhile now Sara," he replied breaking a smile as well.

"Excellent."

***Side-note***

**Just thought to let you guys know that I have a short week of school so I will be updating frequently throughout the week, obviously between doing homework and exam prep. Love you guys! Please don't forget to review on the story!**

**~Cece**


	6. Chapter 5

**So I'm back. I would just like to take a moment and thank all my supporters, can't say that this story would be still up if it weren't for you guys, you keep me going, and you also made me realize that no one cares about haters, so thank you all. So I will contune to write because it's what I love. Thanks for sticking with it! Enjoy!**

I glanced at the hula girl on the dashboard. Her grass skirt had 12:00 a.m. blazed on it. The graveyard shift wasn't very high on my to-do list that evening. Neither was a stake-out in front at the local bank. Both left me exasperated.

There's nothing you can do while watching a specific place. Absolutely _nothing_. No activity can be seen in our vehicle. We're invisible to the outside world.

In the back seat was a cooler filled with iced coffees and energy drinks. Several empty pop bottles were our bathroom for the night. One had already been filled and the pungent smell of urine radiated out of the plastic. My nose crinkled under the musty odor and I tried thinking happy thoughts. I let out a sigh when it didn't work, but understood that no one ever said the job was glamorous. And someone had to do the job. Maybe it should be the unanimous caller that gave us the tip to come here, I thought.

Lt Johnson repositioned himself in his seat. I found it humorous that Gordon had teamed us up again. Even though he was a brand new rookie the last time I had seen him, the twenty-four hours he had worked for me shaped his perception of not only crime, but the thin line holding life and death.

"Pretty soon we should start alternating watch patterns. Do you think every two hours is good enough?" he asked.

I nodded in response. We had been silent for almost four hours. I would play with the radio. He would sip on a drink. I would watch the bank. He would look at the time. It was our little game and whoever cracked first, lost. He couldn't take it anymore, I thought smugly to myself.

"People are saying you had a mid-life crisis or a nervous breakdown of some sorts," Johnson spoke.

Great, everyone at work thinks I'm a nutcase. Might as well set the record straight, altering a few parts here and there of course, I continued to think.

"I just wanted to travel around Africa and help those in poverty. Before I knew it, I got caught up in everything and a year had passed," I told him simply.

"What about Batman? Jim said he disappeared often. I know there was something going on between you two. Was he looking for you? Did he _bring _you back to Gotham?" Johnson continued.

I reclined back in my seat, "I think I'm going to go to sleep. See you in two hours Johnson."

It probably wasn't the best sentence I could muster up. Something along the lines of 'You ask too many questions' would seem suspicious and then he would ask even more questions. Lying to him was out of the question. A partnership had to be built off of trust, even if it was a work related relationship.

At approximately two in the morning I was jerked out of a dead slumber. Beside me Johnson got settled for his own nap.

The can of Monster I had grabbed, hissed until I poked into its desired serum of energy. Sipping the drink, I glanced into the shadows loitering the front of the bank. My eyes widened whenever I spotted movement.

Quickly getting out of the car, I stalked through the darkness. It was only a mere thirty seconds until I was staring at the side-street beside the building. Releasing my gun from its holster, my eyes darted to the rooftops looming overhead.

There wasn't the slightest scurry of a mouse. I had been seeing things.

I placed my gun back into hiding and began to retreat. "You should never put the gun away until you're safely back inside the vehicle," Batman spoke coming out of the shadows.

"I won't be needing it if you're sticking around," I retorted.

He glared at me, "I'm leaving."

I turned on my heel and walked away. He was checking up on me like I was a child. All my job required was to watch a building. I could do that without his guidance, I fumed.

All thoughts were cut short with a swift blow to the head. The force propelled me forward until I collided with thick asphalt. My body skidded along for awhile longer until friction stopped me completely.

My clothes were ripped, my skin was torn, and I stayed still. If I had the element of surprise, I would be guaranteed a criminal.

Footsteps traced the outline of my frame, but the mugger stopped just short of my shoulders. I was flipped around facing him, "I know you're awake," he whispered. Before my eyes could open, his foot sunk itself deep into my abdomen. I assumed the fetal position and coughed profusely.

I glanced up at the man. He was clad in a green spandex jumpsuit. His face was cover with a mask covered in question marks. He knelt down and leaned forward, closing in on me. "Tell me this officer, are you good at solving riddles?"

**So that's it, a little bit of a cliffy but hey. :) Please leave a review of what you liked or didn't like. Thanks for reading! **

**~Cece**


	7. Chapter 6

The green clad figure took a firm hold on my hand, hoisting me off the ground.

"If you answer the riddle correctly, you walk away safely. Answer incorrectly, you may walk away with a few missing parts," he spoke.

"Do I have another choice?"

"Death," he said simply.

It seemed unimaginable that one word would drain any trace of color from my red face. Make my sturdy limbs lose structure as my muscles gained elasticity. Or stop my hearts erratic beating completely. One word so boldly spoken, frightened me terribly; like a child scared of the closet monster.

I guess it was quite silly actually. Almost two years ago I had witnessed many deaths-even escaping my own several times; all at the hands of the Joker. The experience never left my subconscious mind and maybe that is what frightened me. The thought of dying was associated with the man who bestowed the memorable scar upon my cheek. _He _was why I was scared.

Swift movements were caught in the peripherals of my vision. Someone was moving through the shadows. Black on black made it difficult to see whom, but I had a hunch that I already knew who it was. Now all I had to do was stall.

"Wait a minute, are you Lt. Wilterpolte?" he asked.

"Yes, and you are...?" I inquired hesitantly.

"My name is Edward Enigma or the Riddler as I prefer. I was locked away in Arkham Asylum for about a year whenever _they_ brought in the Joker. He was my cellmate until _they_ executed him," Edward spurted. He was growing hateful, angrier.

I didn't like where the conversation was going and thought it was best to change the subject. Edward's clenched fists confirmed my thoughts. "Edward, what riddle do you have in store for me?"

"Have you not been listening?! I am the Riddler now!" he bellowed, violently shaking my shoulders.

The _Riddler_ jabbed a finger into my chest, continuing his story, "He told me all about what he did to you. It was brilliant, all the terrors he unleashed, but our favorite was and always will be the scar."

His thumb traced the line etched forever-like it was precious to him, the last memory of his mad friend-in my skin as he spoke. "I promise that my treacheries will be greater, more practical. You see, everything the Joker created had a small flaw. Anyone with a brain could escape. I will build something over-the-top that will make you regret what you did to my late friend," Enigma said, his voice growing darker by the minute.

"You shouldn't live in the past," a raspy voice sounded behind the Riddler's spandex form.

_Finally_, I thought. I punched Edward in the nose. Batman had produced a viable distraction for me to take advantage of.

He let go of my body and I sprang towards the cruiser. "Johnson! Call for back-up!" I yelled on the other side of the glass as my fists pounded on the car.

I glanced over my shoulder. Batman was on the ground pulling a knife from his abdomen. The Riddler was halfway down the alley whenever he turned back and yelled, "I _will_ be back for you Sara!"

His threat added to the already cold environment eating at my skin. Shivers made me shudder.

Turning my thoughts back to Batman, I observed the pavement, but he was gone. Typical.

. . . . . . .

I slammed the chestnut door shut and went to the kitchen. I needed comfort food.

After back-up had arrived, the questions began. Who was the criminal? What was he after? Was Batman here? Did you get the felons? Whenever they found out that I let the Riddler slip through my fingers, the most infuriating question was asked. Why had I let him get away?

I didn't _let_ him get away. The other officers only assumed that because I had been gone for a year. The thought made me pull of my boots and heave them towards the door.

All the loud noise must have woken Alfred up. "You're home early," he mumbled half awake, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

I opened the fridge, "The bank I was watching got robbed. Gotham's "CSI" came in and told Johnson and I to leave."

"It figures, the first night back in town I receive a death threat and nearly get sacked," I mumbled for only me to hear.

Unfortunately Alfred heard it too. "Someone tried to kill you?" he asked, appalled.

I grabbed a pan and a couple of eggs. "Shouldn't you be used to it? You live with Batman. He comes home with cuts, bruises, and death threats too!" I elaborated.

As if on cue, Bruce descended the staircase. He approached us. He was shirtless. My eyes darted to the scars covering his muscular frame-many villains were proud to have painted their masterpiece upon the masked vigilante. My eyes traveled along the bump road, until the car stopped in front of a red river.

"Alfred, do you know where the extra stitching thread is?" he asked.

Alfred walked off in search of his masters' request. "Have you tried to stitch that up already?" I asked observing the tattered knife wound.

I received a curt nod. "Well, you could have just asked," I told him.

I motioned for him to follow me to the den. "You're forgetting I took one year of medical school before I dropped out," I spoke, pointing to the couch.

Alfred walked in, placing peroxide, cotton balls, and threading material on the coffee table. "Do try to keep the bloody mess to a minimal Miss Sara. It's quite terrible to get red out of beige couches," Alfred spoke with a chuckle.

I cleansed the wound with peroxide, sterilized the needle, and then looked at Bruce. "I'm going to say sorry right now, because once I start the only time I'm going to stop is when I have finished. I'm only saying sorry because this hurts like a bitch. Trust me, I know," I said.

Bruce smiled, "I'll be fine."

"You sure you don't want to hold my hand?" I teased.

He shook his head.

With a soft sigh at his macho act, I placed the needle into his skin. I saw him wince, but I took heed to my promise and continued. Two minutes and thirty stitches later, I was bandaging Bruce's abdomen. I knew very well that this was the stab wound he had received while protecting me. Helping him with his wound made us equal, right?

"Thank-You."

"For what?" Bruce asked.

"Saving my life," I replied.

"It's my duty-" I cut him off with a hug.

He wrapped his arms around me and gently set his head upon mine, "You're welcome."

**Okay guys, That's it! Thanks for reading and I'm so sorry for the wait but I have the next couple chapters done so they will be up immediatley following this one. Cheers!**

**~Cece**


	8. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! I'm back with a short chapter. Just a small filler, but please enjoy!**

"A new face has the Gotham City police scrambling to capture him," Mike Engel said into the camera.

A photo of a man in business attire appeared on the TV screen. His auburn hair was slicked back, his face composed.

"This is the man known as the Riddler. He has been leaving letters for the high officials of Gotham. Each individual note includes one riddle. Shortly after, the victim is joined by the Riddler. They have no choice, but to answer. Their answer determines whether they live or die," Mike continued on.

"Gotham Tonight has been investigating and one of our sources tells us that the Riddler was once a cop himself," Engel was silenced with the swift click of the television blacking out.

A mere three days after my encounter with Enigma two bodies were found. An envelope and card of the same question mark stationary was found strewn across the corpses. These people were nothing but a coffee shop cashier and hustler. Nobody's of Gotham. This was one flaw in Engels' report.

It was only a matter of time before the Riddler escalated things. Whether he killed many of the nobodies or picked off corporate owners, he was going to make a statement. That was what he wanted.

"That man is like the wind. Every time I think we have him, he disappears. I don't understand how he does it," I murmured.

"He knows the system. He used to be a cop. Seems Mike Engel has credible sources."

I looked at Bruce in astonishment. "That means…"

"He knows how raids, stake-outs, and formations work. You didn't think that you were placed in front of the bank by coincidence," he continued on sitting beside me.

"The unanimous caller-" Bruce cut me off, "Was the Riddler. It was his first step."

I glanced at Bruce to see if he was as frustrated as me. Stretched out on the couch, his socked feet were leisurely placed on a priceless heirloom. One hand lay on the plush arm while the other was slung onto the upholstered back. Bruce was relaxed. A rare moment such as this didn't last long therefore I enjoyed our comfortable silence.

The two of us had worked out most of our differences in the short amount of time we were forced to reacquaint. There were touchy subjects neither of us were ready for yet. We weren't afraid to walk on uneven ground, but tarnishing what had been newly achieved was not worth it. The unknown was what we were scared of. Bruce and I were changed people and the way we would react or handle thing could have altered in the year of not being with one another. We had alienated each other.

"I need to stop this guy, fast-" I was cut off by Bruce again.

"Sara, you need to relax. I've learned that you have to live in the moment. Mankind's lives can be taken away within a blink of an eye. With jobs like ours, the chances are doubled," he explained.

"But-," I began, but Bruce's large hand extended forward, silencing me.

"Shh, enough about him."

"Is this where you tell me we don't need to talk at all?" I joked.

He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of the couch, encasing me in heat. "Precisely," he whispered, brushing his lips over mine.

Instincts persuaded me to pull him closer, my heart couldn't be heard over its wild palpitations, and my brain screamed out that this was wrong.

Regrettably, I obeyed my thoughts. No matter how _right _kissing Bruce felt, it was not the right time.

I placed both hands on his chest and gave a slight push. We both retracted without a word. The feeling was mutual; we weren't ready to start a relationship. Not yet, at least. Many thoughts swirled around my head.

I stood up, grabbed my coat, and left.

I needed to think.

**Okay, that's it! Please give me some helpful reviews, if you think they are needed! Thanks for reading!**

**~Cece**


	9. Chapter 8

The hurried tones of a piano for a 1920's silent film could not keep up with my brisk walking. Like the wind I breezed into the garage. Thought scattered my intent-not that I had any to begin with.

Faces lit up the exit. Could I talk to Jim? Would Martha be able to understand my complex relationship with Bruce? Even with half a story? I wouldn't go to Alfred, he would only bother Bruce. Confuse him more than he already was. But why did Bruce have to puzzle me as well? We were stable again (up until his latest actions). Why did he have to ruin _everything_?

Back in the closure of the city, I took a sharp turn nearly crushing a woman in the process.

I wanted to get lost in the labyrinth of streets and buildings.

Once my mind had sorted every thought deep within, I would need a diversion to keep them from resurfacing. Finding my way back home in an unfamiliar location fit the job perfectly.

Ten minutes later, I was good and lost. Parking on the side of the boulevard, the purring of the Jaguar ceased.

I placed my forehead on the steering wheel.

My breathing slowed, preparing my mind for the upcoming task. In and out. In and out. A four step rhythm. Two half rests placed between breaths. In and out. In and-Clink! Clink! Clink!

My eyes burst open. I glanced to my left, but to my right Johnson stood with a small child in his arms.

I stepped outside.

A bold move for someone verging on a nervous breakdown.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were living with Wayne," he asked.

An awkward silence followed. I contemplated running back to the car and driving away. The thought shook off my limbs-it would come off as rude. Another blossomed. I could always lie.

I glanced at the squirming boy cradled in Johnson's arms. His cherub face didn't need to be tainted by devilish misleadings. The two deserved more than that.

"Honestly? I was thinking."

"Couldn't you do that there? It is a big place," Johnson thought aloud.

The blonde haired toddler broke free of his fathers' protection. Racing forward, he stopped inches away from me. His face lit up and projected a smile, blinding me with his teeth.

"Hi, my name is Thomas," he chirped, sticking out his little hand.

I took it in mine, "I'm Sara. It's nice to meet you Thomas."

A third party entered our group. "And I am the Riddler," he spoke coming from behind the Jaguar.

I heard the crunching of my nose before I saw his hand. I didn't have time to defend or even fight back as the Riddler achieved the blow that rendered me unconscious.

_3rd POV_

David Johnson watched in horror as his partner was knocked down in two movements. He ran towards her lifeless frame, but jerked to a stop.

The Riddler pulled Thomas closer to him by his hair. The last thing the Riddler needed was his plan to get demolished before the project had even begun. Especially over a child.

"Don't move or the boy dies," his threat boomed ominously.

"Daddy!" Thomas cried out.

Johnson already knew his choice. His blood. His kin. Was more important than his partner.

Sara would've wanted it this way. She had rescued the Commissioner's family, Gotham, and even David himself. Her selfless acts would extend to his son, one last time. It would be her last duty, Johnson thought, thick with remorse.

"Set the boy down, you can have the officer. Just don't hurt the boy," he pleaded.

The Riddler smiled at the sight of Johnson's defeat. It was refreshing to manipulate the cop under the fear of losing his child.

Overhead, Batman lurked. Who to save? He did not know. Torn between what he wanted and what was right; he needed to choose.

He regretted his decision, but it had to be done. The boy had barely begun his life. He _needed_ to be saved.

Too soon did he jump. Too soon was his anger unleashed. Too much force he used in each punch. But damn did it feel good.

Every punch, every kick, shoved Thomas further into the desolate road. One last punch to the Riddler's chest echoed through, past his body. Thomas plummeted down into the asphalt. It bit his arms and his legs. He cried whenever he felt the stinging of the dirt.

No sooner had he fallen, Thomas looked up. His daddy would take away the pain. Only, he couldn't find his father. Thomas' eyes were entranced by a bright light.

Batman and Johnson watched the scene play before them in slow motion.

Headlights.

Screeching of brakes.

The collision of bumper against skin.

Thomas' broken body lying helplessly before them.

Thomas was dead.

David ran to his son. Blood trickled down Thomas' forehead. His femur pointed to the moon, puncturing an artery or two. The boys' hands were extremely swollen and a dent in his neck shined from impact. It had killed him instantly.

Johnson murderously glared at the vigilante. "You are going to pay for what you did to my boy!" he screamed, saliva spilling from his mouth.

Batman didn't acknowledge his outburst.

He scoped the area and then fled.

Sara and the Riddler were no where to be seen.

**Thanks for reading! Any reviews are welcome! Cheers!**

**~Cece**


	10. Chapter 9

**Okay! I'm back! I know I just put on a new chapter but I was exciteed to see the reaction over this chapter. So I know it may seem unbelieveable that Sara is a cop but, for there to be a good story SOMEONE needs saving and Batman/Bruce never needs saving because he is "Da Bomb". I have no idea how to exicute an idea like kidnapping Batman. As much as I would like Sara kicking butt, Batman/Bruce won't let her, henceforth her ALWAYS getting caught up in the action. I'm sorry for those who may think she's a Damsel in Distress, I'm also thinking that myself but I have no idea how to change that without altering the plans for my story. Anyway I'm going to stop talking now, enjoy the story!**

_Bruce's_ POV

The bittersweet sight of darkness stole away the sun, taking all hope we had with it. The hours spent searching for the final riddle turned up empty handed. Gordon blamed the lack of officers, but I knew better. They weren't trying hard enough. But, they didn't have anything to lose, the voice of reason whispered.

Two years back, the Jokers maniacal laughter spread like wildfire. Nothing whole was left unshattered; breathing bodies ceased. Whether it was physical or emotional, everyone lost a piece of themselves in his wake. Everyone had a right to be afraid. And in six months, his manipulation of that fear took on a new height. It broke the city in half.

In the months prior to his capture, reporters often asked me if I was scared for my life. My answer always came out the same-No.

I wasn't lying or protecting my image or being macho. My life was never in danger-I was always Batman. But every moment _she_ wasn't with me, I worried. It was not because I didn't trust her enough not to get into trouble, but because Sara always found it. Being associated with Batman never helped either.

I eased some pressure off my shoulders, whenever I forced her to live in the mansion, but danger still wound its way around her neck.

Injuries on the surface were easy enough to mend. Dealing with the fear that she might not make it out-being kidnapped made it worse. When I wasn't searching for her, I was building a plan. I didn't give up. There was always hope. Never before did I have no certainty Sara was alive (besides what the letters told me). The Riddler was out for revenge, not unmasking the Batman. With this in mind, fear suck in deep.

"Bruce? Are you listening?"

I nodded. "It is ten o'clock right now. That means we have two hours left to find Sara. Lt. David Johnson didn't come into work today. I say we take a thirty minute break and then meet up at his place," Jim continued.

The hours Jim and I spent plucking ideas out of the sky had not been forfeited. A hole was the answer to the second riddle. We were positive about it. Hopefully the final riddle would not take as long to solve.

I gave my farewell to Jim and then left.

There would be no point in going to Wayne Manor, it was too far away. The best idea involved staying within the city limits. I drove making preemptive turns. My heart had chosen a destination.

Brains only made the right decisions towards business deals or taking down a criminal in two kicks. The heart made the correct movements in the family/friends aspect.

Despite what people like Lucius or Alfred have said-you know you can talk to me about anything- they usually don't give me advice. I also know them too well and therefore expect their "two cents worth" and a witty parting statement. Right now, I needed someone who would listen. I found that person's residence as I parked at the Gotham City Cemetery.

Walking past headstones, I found her instantly. I planted myself beside the granite carving.

"Hey Rachel."

Silence followed.

"No flowers today, I just need someone to talk to. I thought of you first," I said, a smile playing on my lips.

More silence.

"Sara's been kidnapped again. The worst things always happen to her," I thought aloud, "Remember the last time she was held hostage? You never made it out alive. She was heartbroken."

My throat tightened. A lump rose slowly and I stopped abruptly.

"I don't want her to end up beside you," I choked out.

Hot tears pricked my eyes. I covered my face. I was ashamed of my weakness. Superheroes weren't supposed to have weaknesses, it made the beatable. _It also makes them human, I thought lightly._

More tears came with each rising emotion. Sobs escaped my mouth. Fear had reached the surface.

A minute or so later, I was back inside the car. Face composed, I drove to Johnson's.

I knocked on the door marked 118. It was on the third floor of a grungy apartment complex.

A muffled, "One second." and crashing of glass could be heard beyond the wood. Three clicks of locks moving followed.

Johnson's head popped through a tiny crack in the door. An exuberant smile crossed his tired face. "Mr. Wayne, what an honor," he gushed.

The door swung open and I was ushered into the living room. Paper flooded the coffee table and sofa. Johnson noticed my interest. "Plans for my sons' funeral."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I spoke, thoughts of Thomas' bones breaking stealing my mind.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked.

"I would like to see your mail," I responded.

"You can't be serious."

"Sure am," I said, forcing a smile.

David excused himself and went down the hall. Taking the moment of opportunity, I glided over to the sofa. Newspaper clippings of myself as both Bruce Wayne and Batman were what covered the two spaces. Pictures of Sara swirled around in to sea of papers as well. _He was making connections, I thought._

"Found it," Johnson spoke, catching me red-handed. His face faltered for a moment, before he handed me a green piece of paper. "Is this what you are looking for?"

The letter had already been opened.

_Riddle me this. There were five men going to church and it started to rain. The four that ran got wet and the one that stood still stayed dry. Why is this?_

"I figured it out already. The dry man is in a coffin," David spoke and then muttered to himself, "The newspaper thinks they're so clever."

I dropped the parchment. "He plans to bury her alive."

**Ooohhh! Cliffy! Love you guys! So let me know what you thought of this chapter and all my others. Thanks so much for reading! Have a lovely Day, Night, Evening, Afternoon, Morning!**

**~Cece**


	11. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! So I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am! Not only did I have a GINORMOUS case of writer's block but, I also put up the same chapter as before. *facepalm* I also have been preparing for the up and coming finals happening within the next week or so. But...I'm BACK! Enjoy! Oh and I'm gonna pull a really bitchy move and tell you the next chapter is written and if you want to read it, I will have to see 10 new reviews within the next 72 hours.**

_Sara's POV_

I awoke to darkness. My hands and feet were no longer bound. That was odd. The usual scenery of cinderblock walls closed in, cinching my shoulders. Knees propped themselves a foot off the ground, my hands clenched –I had a mild case of claustrophobia. It's best to stay calm, I thought. Stretching out my feet, they immediately clashed against a stiff plank.

Over top of my body, a crumbling substance fell. Dust maybe? Picking up a morsel, I rubbed it between the pads of my fingers. It was grainy. Tasting it would be next. Bleh, it was dirt. My face cringed and I spat out earth's soil. What was dirt doing above me?

I looked around. Too dark was my prison. My hands were nearly an inch away and masked in the shadows. I groped, feeling around the edges. A splinter bit the skin. Ah, I was being contained in wood. This was going to be easy to escape from. Hands braced the concaved lid, triceps strained to it. My state had not changed. Back to square one.

My arms were permitted very little movement. However, my legs were another story. The air was beginning to get heavy with carbon dioxide; it was time to get out. One, two, three kicks bent the wood. On the fourth I achieved freedom –or so I thought.

Soil cascaded in like a black river. Devouring my legs, it dispersed down. But the mud flow ceased just short of my head. It would not prevail in suffocating me.

The worst had come, but aftershocks in the form of insects descended. Centipedes, worms, horned beetles, millipedes, and ants filled the crevices in my pants and shoes. Ones that crossed into the war zone were down quickly with my swift hand.

Screaming or pounding on the wood would not help my current predicament -I had been buried. Even worse; I had been buried among other corpses in a cemetery. And I would not be able to get away.

_Bruce's POV_

"Alfred, give me all the major cemeteries in Gotham," I spoke as I flung myself behind the wheel.

Silence followed after a moment. "The cemetery behind Arkham and Gotham City Cemetery are the only two," he replied.

"Send Jim the coordinates to both locations. Tell him to bring other officers and shovels."

"Of course Master Bruce," Alfred ended the conversation.

He had learned long ago not to question my actions. Alfred always wanted me to do what I felt was best. Occasionally, he would lead me in the proper direction, but most of the time he only asked if it was crucial –what mess he would have to clean up or damage control. Tonight involved only two people, The Riddler and Sara.

The odometer screamed I was going to fast. 100 miles per hour over the speed limit wasn't too bad. For an emergency such as this, it was too slow. Arkham eventually came into focus. Squealing brakes made my presence known.

Exiting the car, I ran for the entrance –it was 12:10, we were losing time. Sprinting around head stones, I looked for new plots of dirt. Every row and column had two newly dug graves. He had made it impossible to find her. I need back-up, my frantic mind thought. I can't do this alone.

If you never ask, you don't get, I guess. Not even a minute later, officers flooded the area.

"Go to the newly dug graves. Read out the engravings on the headstones," I commanded.

Standard names like John or Mary were heard often. Others had nothing. Sentences beneath the names were generic. Psychopath seemed both prominent and fitting.

"Sir, I've got a grave of interest," someone called out pointing to a name I had not seen in awhile. 'The Joker' was engraved on a tablet had been cultivated.

"Dig it up."

Officers piled around pillaging dirt in a circular formation. Many watched.

To pass the agonizing minutes, I paced. Hopefully Gordon was having better luck than we were. Back and forth movements didn't pause my thoughts though. To purge my mind, I read headstones. One had a scripture, another spoke a statement: 'Silence is golden'.

Wait a minute. Silence. That was the answer to one of the riddles.

I sank to my knees scraping the bare dirt with my fingers. Handfuls flew in ever direction as I proceeded deeper into the man-made hole, in search of the long lost treasure. Eventually shovels surrounded me in attempt to help.

Clank! signified the meeting of wood and metal. I dusted off the edges and lifted the lid.

Sara's porcelain face came into view. Rejoiced filled every fiber of my being as I lifted her out. But something wasn't right.

Sara didn't move. She was lifeless

**Alrighty that's it! So hop to and review, review, review! A speacial thanks to those of you who told me about the previous mishap...it's appreciated!**

**XOXO**

**~Cece**


	12. Chapter 11

** Enjoy!**

Lavender.

The slumbering scent was easy to detect in the sterile hospital room as it pranced beneath my nose. Hospitality and familiarity floated along the edges –Alfred insisted on putting a sprig of lavender amongst the laundry while it dried- lingering long enough to calm me. It was the perfect remedy after awakening from a comatose state.

Events of the night had spiraled into a cataclysmic circus. Rescuing me had become the number one priority. Which meant the Riddler's rampage was still in full-swing. By kidnapping a police officer, he showed the public he had power. To prove his point, three more cops had disappeared since my return. But the Riddler's task wouldn't be completed until the judicial system blew up in Gotham's face. Eventually surrender would be accomplished; by force if necessary.

Jim frequently visited the hospital to keep Bruce up-to-date in the passing hours (you'd be surprised how much information comatose patients retain). Although I could remember things of the present, the past seemed obscure.

I had expected Batman to gather all information and find me first, but I can't remember him at all. My vision was impaired at the time, but my sense of touch was still intact. Surprisingly that led to another dead end. Sturdy denim and cotton carried me to the ambulance. Standard police attire consisted of slacks and a button down shirt. Everyone kept to the code, even Jim who felt disfigured in a suit. Batman wasn't my savior because his suit was bullet-proof material with shield-like padding. That is unless…

**_Unless Bruce saved me._**

An unknown emotion filled me. Immense pride made me smile –Bruce did not need to hide behind a mask to help those in need and protect people he cared for. Quickly, a jolt of remorse shot to my heart. Bruce left his alter egos duties to rescue me. He loved me that much. And I had left him alone for one year.

I opened my eyes. Bruce's head rested on my lap. Tears glazed them –my revelation revealed how terrible I had treated him. I didn't deserve this kind of love. Especially since I was still slightly upset with him.

My hand reached forward ad stroked through his hair. It was the only thing I cold do to restore peace in both our minds.

The rhythmic movements continued for five minutes. Afterwards, Bruce had woken up. His eyes traced over my lively face. I smiled to accentuate movement and showed him I was okay.

My hand rested on his cheek.

'You're awake," he whispered covering that hand with his.

Bruce's head lifted off the linens. My hand was still in his grasp whenever I nodded. He wasn't close enough though; that made me uneasy.

Crawling out of the bed, I crawled into his arms as If I was five years old. My head nuzzled into the crook of his neck; hands clenching his shirt.

"You came for me," I whispered back, my voice trembled.

My voice cracked the second time I spoke, "_You_ came for me."

He didn't understand the crucial meaning behind those four words. Comprehending the feeling behind them would take awhile too.

Bruce hugged me closer while I cried. I didn't want to pretend everything was alright anymore. So I let loose.

Surprisingly, being in a vulnerable state around Bruce was like breathing; refreshing and easy. I knew I could trust him and know that he wouldn't reveal this moment to anyone.

I lay in Bruce's arms until the early rays of sunshine peeked through the window into the stark white room. Firm hands protectively pulled my body closer to Bruce's chest. Content with my situation, I sighed. The movement awoke my savior. His muscles tightened before giving way, but his fingers attached themselves in my hair.

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you," Bruce whispered, his lips brushing his pained emotions across my forehead.

The tender moment seemed tarnished because I knew Bruce thought I was still asleep. He wasn't willing to reveal his true passionate emotions when he feared humiliation. He would be cautious until I earned his trust back. Then, I learned my journey to redemption would be long and dangerous, but it would be worth it in the end. The conception that he still he cared for me was enough to initiate my search for the beginning of the path.

**So a little fluffy, I'll admit. But who cares... So I'll try to stay regular with my updates but, I do have a lot of things coming up this month so I have no idea if I have any time to update the story but, I'll try. Love you guys!**

**~Cece**


	13. Chapter 12

I sat alone in the dark office. Rhythmic ticking continued from the wall clock. It had been three hours since my discharge out of the hospital. Since then, I had eagerly waited in silence. An although the door was open any time for colleagues, I felt an invisible sign rapidly blinking "Restricted!". It isn't like I was rifling through his drawers, finding personal effects –I shouldn't have felt guilty. If Jim didn't want anyone in here, he should have locked the door, I thought calming my frazzled nerves.

The click of the door opening sent alarms with each sound wave. My hands were shaking. _Maybe I should go…_

The lights flicked on. _Too late_, I thought. Now it was time to put my game face on.

"What's the plan?" I asked.

"The plan is to get you home safely, so you can relax," Gordon replied. He had been expecting my visit.

"Jim, you know me. I'm not going to let people risk their lives to protect mine."

"That's why you're going to be off city limits at Wayne Manor," Jim argued.

"The Riddler will expect that!" I yelled.

Silence followed. It felt worse than if Jim were to yell at me, because in the quiet I could think. The gears turned, producing a patented product.

"I've got an idea," I whispered.

. . . . . . .

End credits rolled up the TV screen. The movie had finished.

Two hours earlier had been popcorn packed. Activities included pillow fights and whipped cream bombs. As the sugar rush died down, "The Lion King" blazed itself in high definition. Now, two heads lay on either shoulder. Carrying Cameron and Peter off to bed, I clicked the TV off and enjoyed the satisfying sound of silence.

I took this time alone and cleaned up the mess we had created. Walls were washed, dishes cleaned, and garbage thrown away. All were done easily until I entered the kitchen with extra plates.

A breeze flew in through an open window. _That's odd, all windows had been closed_, I thought.

Fear seized my nerves when realization sunk in. _Someone was in the house._

With great difficulty, I moved towards the sink (the felon couldn't know that I was aware of their presence). From the cupboard, I pretended to fumble for a sponge and hid a knife while pulling out the cleaning utensil. Soap spilled into the sink, suds prominent in the water; my ears listened for the slightest bit of sound. I would have to be ready for an attack.

After a minute, the floor creaked behind me. I pulled a glass out of the water, hoping it would reveal a reflection. Nothing was seen, but the hair on the back of my neck stood up on end as I heard someone breathing. Clutching the knife, I whirled around to face my assailant.

Standing under five feet, Peter stared at me with wide eyes. "I had a bad dream," he whimpered, gazing at the knife.

Instantly I was at his side. The knife lay on the floor. "How about I turn on your night light?"

"The man with question marks all over his body said that was a bad idea," Peter said.

My blood ran cold. "How long has the man been talking to you?" I asked frantically.

Peter shrugged and I took hold of the handle of the knife. After telling him to stay in the kitchen, I walked down the hallway. Blood pulsed loudly in my ears with each step –it made me slightly dizzy. I knew I wouldn't be able to fight the Riddler –he was too cunning- I just needed to hold him off for a few minutes.

The time it took to reach bedroom was too short.

I peered into the dark room. My shaky hand flipped on the switch. To my surprise, there was _nothing_. This revelation settled my paranoia. I stepped back into the hallway and asked Peter, "Do your parents let you watch too many scary movies?

Back down to the kitchen I went. Until…

_Someone jumped on my body._

"Thirsty for more my dear?" The Riddler cackled.

He kicked the knife out of my grasp as I struggled to escape. His hands felt shackle-like as the clasped around my arms, pushing them into the carpet. My legs were useless as well. He had them pinned beneath his body weight. The part of my body that was free happened to be my mouth.

"Peter! Cameron! Get out of the house now!" I screamed repeatedly.

My body jerked around pushing and pulling under the two hundred pound strain. He would not take me this easily. His bare hand was only an inch or two away from my head. Baring my teeth like a dog, I bit down hard on his skin. The Riddler yelped in pain, releasing my arm to shake his hand; his other hand struck me across the face.

"You bitch," he spat.

I didn't pay attention. I elongated my body, stretching forward to reach for the knife. The tips of my fingers barely touched the handle. Millimeter by millimeter, I pulled the object closer while the Riddler was preoccupied with his wound.

_Please help me,_ I prayed. It would take a miracle for me to get the knife within my grasp. As if on cue, the metal object fell into my hands and I stabbed the Riddler in the thigh. He jumped up, releasing me from the human constriction.

I bolted from the hallway outside, colliding with another body. I screamed pushing away from them.

"Sara! It's me!" Bruce explained.

"Where is he?" Jim asked from behind.

"In the hallway," I said moving out of the way.

That night Edward Enigma was put inside a police cruiser where his destination would be the Gotham Penitentiary. Through the glass he looked defeated. And through the glass I served him a riddle, "Edward, when one does not know what it is, then it is something; but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing."

He looked at me, confusion in his eyes, "I do not know."

"You should know, for it is a riddle," I replied with satisfaction as the cruiser pulled away.

**Burn! *insert the infamous Kelso face here*. Alrighty guys that's it for today! Hope you enjoyed it cause it was a lot of fun to write. Your reviews make my day :) **

**XOXO**

**~Cece**


	14. Chapter 13

The sun set in a spectacular array of red, purple, and orange. Each color seeped into the other across the endless sky. No artists' pallet could recreate this kind of beauty. But despite my best efforts, I was not able to enjoy myself. I had just captured a dangerous felon and yet I felt something evil brewing in the shadows of each towering skyscraper. This unnerving feeling gnawed into the very core of my being, refusing to cease, urging my thoughts not to forget that if I didn't watch out, a significant change would occur, _for the worse._

I sighed and leaned off the wall. It was time to check on the prisoner.

The holding cells were only several flights downstairs, five minutes max. As I walked, I couldn't help noticing the char marks still tainting the walls from the last "big catch's" reckless escape from the precinct. It seemed that each black stain was a vignette portraying the previous years' horrific explosion. My eyes closed, attempting to erase the memory. _The hungry flames The Joker had unleashed devoured too many innocent people. And _I _had let it happen._

I guess that's why I constantly joined the Riddler. My guilt fueled my refusal to allow him an over-the-top escape like his predecessor. The room had been emptied as well as the cell that contained the convict's complacent frame (which donned "GCPD" clothing). Jim and I would not be taking any risks this time.

I knocked on the door, peering through the tiny glass window. The lone officer on duty held up a piece of paper that asked, "Password?" No technology was allowed in the basement nor were we to speak. Although the technique was silly and childish, as police we were covering our asses, by following _every_ precaution. As for the password, it was changed every half hour, along with the officer watching the Riddler. Therefore only Jim, the officer, and I knew the password.

I held up a strip of paper. "Candy Corn" was scrawled on the lighter side. _Halloween must be on Jim's mind_, I thought. The boys were probably wound up for the chance to dress-up as Batman and receive mounds of candy. Poor Martha was probably booking dentists' appointments for them right now –they would have at least two cavities apiece after the 31st.

The screeching sound of the metal door opening brought me back to present time, revealing the Riddler safely behind bars. Relieved, I nodded to the guard and exited –as simple as that.

Hip-hopping and skipping two steps at a time, the familiar open rooftop came into view. Bitter coldness nipped at my jacket and I tugged the thin material tighter to my body. This one discomfort was worth the experience I watched from twenty stories high. Up here, the people were the size of ants, and we couldn't see each other. The city lights reflected off the glass buildings, creating a Kodak moment. But the best part was having the next fifteen minutes to ponder about every care in _my _world. That is, until I checked up on the villain within our walls. It was bliss not to have to deal with the terrors of the city and Jim's orders for a few sacred minutes. It was just me and the sounds of Gotham.

After awhile, an unusual pocket of heat formed behind me, balancing my body temperature. I glanced behind my shoulder and saw the glove hand perched upon it before I felt it.

"You should get some rest," his guttural voice spoke.

"I'm fine," was my response.

"You've been here for thirty-six hours straight," Batman urged.

"Why do you think coffee was invented?"

My brash behavior bothered him, I could tell. But when he smirked and put an arm around me, he was communicating that I was not going to win. _We could do this the hard way if you want, _his eyes revealed as he pulled out a grapple gun. I sighed, signifying he had won.

"Ok, I'll go home _for a little bit_," I said emphasizing the last part.

Batman only chuckled.

I released myself from his grasp and sauntered to the door. Turning around I told him in all seriousness, "Take care of yourself, I want you to come home in one piece."

Batman nodded, but he wanted to say more than he was letting on. I couldn't quite place the expression on his face that swept across his features in a flash. Had I seen a mixture of anguish and fondness on the Dark Knight's face? Or was it all a hallucination from sleep deprivation? I looked back to Batman and without a word he leapt off the building. My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

_I guess only time would tell._

**I haven't heard anything from you guys lately, are you liking the story?**

**XOXO**

**~Cece**


	15. Chapter 14

My exhausted frame lingered in the darkened doorway, disguising the many cubicles as a large office. A utility closet seemed a more appropriate setting for the mess that was well-hidden amongst the never-ending plastic maze.

My hand flopped around the wall like a fish out of water for the switch, until it obeyed my hands' slapping and illuminated every crevice. The free hand that lay at my side took an extra few seconds to block the artificial rays from my retinas. And yet, they sloppily collided with my knotted hair. I oddly felt like Mr. Kool-Aid, whose brains sloshed around in his head. The lack of sleep had reduced mine to a pile of mush unable to decipher English from Greek. Therefore the lesson learned today was, do not accept another shift after you have gotten off a double.

My body agreed, yawning for emphasis until I forced any neurologic cells –that hadn't collapsed from exhaustion- to scuff each dead-weight foot across the floor.

_Why was I here again?_

Oh yes, Alfred wanted my planner so that he could pencil-in my appointments for the following month. _Some days, that old man is more organized than me! _Which is discerning because I _am_ the law; you'd figure that I would be well thought out since I memorize numerous attack patterns and choose one of them to use in mere seconds. Lately, I've gone with the flow and relied on my intuition.

I stumbled over a wastebasket as I entered my cubicle. The tight walls closed in on me, very reminiscent of my hearthy coffin. I cringed at the memory. _The sooner I get out of here, the better, _I thought as I shuffled through desk drawers. As I scrambled for the planner, my frantic pace dramatically slowed. It was not because I realized how ridiculous I was being, but by a small object. It seemed strange that punctuation symbol was the upbringing of such terror.

I snatched the envelope and inspected the question mark placed in the top left corner. Although it was only a stamp, I was far from comforted. The note reeked of horror and to ensure the safety of many lives I tore it open.

I inhaled sharply, for it was an invite to Thomas' funeral. Johnson must have hand-delivered it. Mindlessly turning the paper over my hands and gazing over every inch, it took a moment for the thought to click into place, but when it did, I was guilt-ridden.

I hadn't spoken to Johnson since Thomas' death. I had been so selfish lately, I had practically forgotten the fatal night that claimed his _only_ child's life.

I wondered if he went on with his life, pretending that his sons' presence still lingered. Even though Thomas' clothes lay untouched and his bed linens would never be wrinkled again.

Hesitantly at first, I glanced at the date on the card –I would never forgive myself if I could not be there to help Johnson through the stripping of all innocence in his life.

The funeral was to be on Friday. _That was yesterday, _I thought grimly.

I slowly reclined in the worn chair, raking my hands through my hair. My plan was clear, but it took awhile to convince myself that my choice would benefit his well-being. I sighed, grabbing my coat. _Better late than never._

Johnson's POV

White knuckles glazed themselves over the sink as my hands clenched its porcelain sides. Tufts of tawny hair swirled like a hurricane down the drain, mixing with the bright strawberry colored blood.

The two substances collided creating a thick paste. My eager eyes watched intently, tracing the trail through the tainted canvas. It seemed a healthier alternative than what I had been planning thirty minutes prior to this…change.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. The person I saw revolted me. This Johnson had no hair; he was completely bald, despite several slices on his scalp. A jagged scar divided his left eyebrow in half, as well as the corner of his eyelid. These changes were mandatory for what lay in my future and there would be more to come, but for now, it was time to finish the first task.

I grabbed a wig and strategically stuck it to my head. _There would be no turning back now._

. . . . . . .

"Good Evening Lt. Johnson."

"It's nice to see you here man."

And, "Welcome back David," were the standard greetings received as I walked through the precinct, down to the basement. Breezing into the holding cell that contained the Riddler, I told the guard on duty I was to relieve him. It seemed all too easy.

I took a moment to take in my surroundings; I checked the locks on the cell and then noticed the room had no windows. _That could be problematic towards the task_, I thought. I completed the walk-about and took a seat in the far left corner, outside the cell.

As I sat across from this up-and-coming Joker, I pretended to doodle on a piece of paper. Instead, a list of precise notes detailing the escape route for this reigning villain were being scribbled quickly. I snuck a look over my shoulder to ensure I had the Riddler's attention. He winked in response.

Leaning against the wall, I let a triumphant smile stretch my face. All the pawns were falling into place, awaiting their turn to be struck out. And all I could think about was how the city was going to pay for what it did to my son.

**Thank you so much for reading! I honestly LOVE hearing what you have to say about the story, so please let me know in you review! **

**~Cece**


	16. Chapter 15

A melody of intermittent pauses and aggressive crescendos emanated from the chaotic tapping of my fingers. Thunderous cracks shuddered from the hard plastic of the dashboard. Cool air squeezed between the tight junctions of hard and soft and the song continued. Friction of rubbing hands created minimal warmth in my palms. The zipper of my jacket was adjusted once more and a shaky breath was released. This never-ending song of mindless, repetitive actions had commenced the moment I parked in front of Johnson's brownstone –fifteen minutes ago.

I left the manor in hopeful spirits that this could be a regular visit. It had been several days since I had seen my partner and that protective instinct had begun to kick in. Small talk and few jokes to lighten the mood was all I thought I needed in order to assess his state of grieving. The idea had seemed harmless. Calculating and cruel was how I felt now.

When I had faced this form of sudden loss, I longed for the silent solitude of my bedroom. I did not want to explain how I was feeling, nor did I want to feel the agonistic pity of those close to me. Sleepless nights were to be spent stringing together thoughts in chronological order, hoping to find the snag of the seam. The loophole in which that loved one could have been saved. Slowly the pigments bled together and the stillness I had once pined for, allowed reality to shake out the last remnants of hope -the hope for the one in death to breathe life once more. For those of us left behind, these wounds never truly mended themselves.

Finally I stood up. With a slam of the car door, I ran up the front steps. Without pretenses is how I would get through this visit. Instead of banter, I would share my own experiences of pain. He had to know that I could and would be there for him under any circumstances. Although the mourning would never cease, Johnson _had_ to know it evolved into something that didn't make one feel like life wasn't worth living.

I held my breath as my clenched fist connected with the door. Upon contact, a loud crack ignited revealing a fiery explosion. A missense scene played out before me from cut-up film reels. Heat engulfed my body. My knees became weak under an unknown force, and before I could assess my surroundings I was sobbing. A dark figure approached from behind and as hot as the flames ahead, my fury spewed upon him. Who was this stranger? Why was I angry with him? Confusion outweighed the elements of the foreign and unknown. This splash of scenery could not be a figment of reality.

Mechanically, my body turned towards the building that was reminiscent of a volcanic explosion. Doing so revealed to me the location. Then, I knew…I knew I wasn't watching this vignette as a third party. I was revisiting.

In releasing the imprisoned memories from my cerebral cortex, I had unleashed something I did not wish to consume Johnson -guilt. In choosing to suppress the self-loathing and push it deep within, the guilt had bred. In choosing to refrain from disclosure, I had also chosen for it to consume.

It tugged and pulled, forcing me to enter. The brownstone steps swallowed me whole and I was welcomed back to a place I had hoped never to see ever again.

Into a grim land I was plotted. Time was not conscious here. Its lulled state no longer sought out night and day, only a various hue of monotonous gray. Actions were once again slow and took too much effort. Images of past experiences fleeted off into the darkened clouds, immediately disappearing under a crack of thunder as mist scraped at my cinder-blocked ankles.

From deep within the cavern it was a voice that caught my attention. The pitch was high and alarmed. The tone was desperate. It made me flinch.

Out of the haze the ever-so familiar voice sounded off once more. When I did not venture and seek her out, Rachel materialized and came to me. Barrels of gas projected from the haze and set the scene. Tied to a chair was she and I watched as she struggled. A telephone sat beside her, propped against it, a timer counting down. Counting down her final moments -the final moments that I had spent running to save her. The final moments that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Those final moments that had anchored my heart in an ocean of guilt –anchored here.

My eyes seared the timer as it continued to count: 5, 4, 3, and 2… In defeat, I stood and watched guilt won once more. White light blinded me for a short second and hastily disappeared with my final memory of Rachel Dawes.

But it was not enough for guilt to win. It had to boast. It egged on, leisurely awaiting the reaction it relished after the toxin dispersed. And it was not disappointed.

The emotional cataclysm constricted me until my body collapsed on the concrete in a continuous tide of convulsions. My legs kicked and my hands pushed, fighting the mist. I did not want it clouding my mind anymore. The most logical action for its removal was to pound my head against the pavement. Willing the horrific images to surge out with the blood pooling at impact, I continued my dance for guilt.

I could hear it laughing as I felt myself drowning whilst simultaneously trying to understand _why?_

**Hey there! So now you know how much Rachel's death has effected Sara. Just now have I realized how much I've neglected FanFiction and because I have recently figured this out I will be uploading Chapter 16 within the hour. Thanks so much for reading! I love you all and I love reading what you have to thing about the story! So with that said, Please review!**

**~Cece**


	17. Chapter 16

**So This is just a tad bit fluffy, but I loved how could reintroduce characters for just one chapter so I didn't want to withhold this chapter from you guys any longer than it needed to be. Thanks for reading! **

It was Bruce who found me. It was he who found me sprawled upon my partner's front steps. It was Bruce who tried stopped guilt's minuet. He positioned his body in a way that gently held mine down to prevent any further damage. My flailing arms ceased under the careful grasp of his hands. Skin and bones seemed a trifle compared to the bereavement insulating my mind. Topical wounds of muscle and flesh would heal; some would leave scars as reminders and others would fade with time.

It was the internal wounds that you had to worry about. Ones that attacked the mind. Ones that toyed with memories. Ones that could never fully heal. These wounds lasted a lifetime. Yet it was Bruce who still stayed with me. It was he who still attempted to halt my two-step that had continued past the end of my mind's horrific musicale. And although he could hold my body down with the years of training he had received from the League of Shadows Bruce could not control his or my emotions at present.

"Sara what is going on?" were his words of choice, spoken in an alarmed tone.

His eyes flashed like a traffic light between empathy, concern, but most often with the determination to fix me. It would be a shame when he would come to realize he could not fix me –not wholly at least. For no matter which arrangement one chose to glue back together a broken glass it would still leak. It would never function the same.

Bruce's eyes sought out mine. He wanted to lure me back to reality. Couldn't he see I was lost? The skeletons had rattled their way out of my subconscious closet and this had led to the onset of hidden emotions resurfacing relentlessly. My mind could no longer lock them away and keep them at bay. No more could I hide behind a flawless façade. My mind was not that strong. I could not do it by myself; not anymore.

"It was all my fault, I should have tried harder," my sore throat croaked, another onslaught of tears pricking my eyes.

This confused Bruce, "What was your fault?"

"I let them die…I let _her_ die" I managed to sputter out between sharp breaths.

He wiped a thumb along my lower lash line stanching the flow of salt water, "Who?"

"Ra-rachel!" I sobbed.

Realization now slapped both his cheeks, but it did not stop his wide-eyed actions. His body that once pinned me in place gently lifted my body with his. His hands molded my arms and legs so that I lay cradled against him. My head lay in the crook of his neck in which my cheek found sanctuary in the softness of his knit sweater. Tears soaked the wool, but he did not care.

Bruce was too busy ironing the shudders out from my concaved back with rhythmic circular motions of his hand. He rocked back and forth. He held me, like a child until the crying ceased and not but dry sobs continued. He pushed back my hair as bile scraped its way slowly from my mouth.

We lay on the street in the midst of the city, I no longer hiding how I felt and he shielding me from further harm. We looked like right fools to passerby's, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the present. What _should _have mattered was accepting and trying to move on, knowing that I would be forever searching for that piece of me lost internally. That missing piece I knew that I would never find. That missing piece that had been taken with Rachel.

It was in this haggard, weary state of haziness between memory and reality that I heard a voice that sounded foreign, and yet all too familiar. I cocked my head to the side as the voice repeated its phrase, "My child, all is not lost."

My head pounded as I mentally looked around, trying to place a name to this disembodied voice. Quickly a scene was painted before me. A watercolor of luscious green hills, bright yellow sun, and clear blue sky shone bled through the greyness. From behind the voice spoke on, "One can always pick the pieces up –even the missing ones. It just takes time and patience and oftentimes help."

I looked at the man in shock. He was supposed to be dead, how could he be here with me?

As if reading my thoughts my mentor Joseph answered, "I am only here in your mind child. It looked like you needed some cheering up."

A man stepped out from behind Joseph. He had familiar dark hair yet I could not decipher who he was. Laugh lines around his eyes and mouth enhanced the warm aura surrounding him. I felt safe with him around.

"It has been terrible to see both my son and you despair over Rachel, but we are here to ensure that you can go on. The two of you can support one another and rebuild the foundation," Thomas Wayne informed me.

"But I cannot forget one of my closest friends!" I exclaimed sinking to my knees.

"My child, we are not asking you to forget. You must remember her life and what Rachel stood for. Through you, she can survive," Joseph explained.

I looked up at Joseph with glazed eyes "I don't know if I can move on. I have fallen so far."

Thomas reached his hand out for me to clasp, "Sara, why do we fall?"

As Thomas helped lift me up he helped me rise through my mind's dreamscape and back to reality -a reality that had altered in the moments of worn out sleep. I was no longer in Gotham City with Bruce holding me against him. I was now cushioned between a goose feather duvet and a soft mattress.

Bruce must've heard me stir for he was within my vision in seconds. His eyes hypnotically traced circles over the contours and lines that creased my face. We locked eyes on each other and I gave him a slight nod. He turned slowly to leave when the question I had heard merely minutes ago bubbled to the surface.

"Bruce, why do we fall?"

He paused, and then turned around to face me once more. "So that we can learn to pick ourselves back up," he responded.

I propped myself up on my elbows, "What if I can't do it on my own?"

Bruce sat down beside me on the bed and cupped my cheek, "Then I will help you until you can."

**Again thanks so much and don't forget to write something in the review box once you're done reading this unneeded authors note!**

**~Cece**


	18. Chapter 17

**Sorry about such a long hiatus, I promise you that I'm uploading two chapters again because I'm such a terrible person...enjoy :)**

Johnson repositioned himself in a pine chair. The cheap wood creaked, threatening to buckle under his weight. Acknowledging the weakness, David begrudgingly distributed the pressure –limb by limb.

Erect, ankles anchored feet forming two lines of symmetry, breaking ninety degrees at the knees. Vertebrae curved inward like toes do when receiving a breath-taking kiss, and Johnson could not stop the impulse to set his head in his hand.

Each movement strained particular muscles, but it seemed the dull pain kept David's mind focused on the unraveling of the present. In five minutes his plan would commence. Weeks of preparing had finally come down to this event, but he knew the police force would make it a fight to the bitter end.

Regular routines didn't apply to this collar. What else would you expect from a lieutenant who's seen more than her fair share of what the Riddler was capable of? Sara had tactfully adapted a system that was not only elaborate, but damned annoying.

Johnson had spent many a restless night trying to breach her well crafted idea, looking for its weakness. It wasn't until the morning paper came that Johnson realized he was being too literal, therefore needing to think at an alternate view. He began with what he knew and worked from there.

The Riddler was in MCU's so-called "maximum security". In retrospect it was nothing, because of Gotham City's budget cuts. A measly camera occupied the one cell room, overlooking one angle –head on, facing the felon. A clock hung just below it. Johnson now looked at it counting down the miniscule amount of time with one hand.

His plans no longer revolved around the imperfections of Sara's maximum security, but with MCU's two weaknesses: budget and technology.

He stood from the chair. He gave a quick nod to the Riddler.

It was time.

"What's a person got to do to get a meal around here? I'm not picky. Unlike Sam I am, I do prefer green eggs and ham," The Riddler rattled on, skirting around the edge of his cell.

"I thought riddles were your thing," Johnson muttered closing in and meeting the Riddler on the other side.

"One must get with the times. You and I both know that steel bars don't ring like chimes," he replied facing David.

The sergeant felt a noose tighten around his own neck as he contemplated this mans' poetic sentence. Only feet away from the designated pass-off, a slip-up could cause the cold steel to proudly encase _his_ body.

"I'll make you a deal. Stop rhyming and I will personally get you dinner," Johnson spoke, swallowing the hard lump in his throat.

"My friend, this is a severe tick…that I shall mend if you be quick," he answered with a grin.

Now, the moment of truth. David took a step, 1-2-3, his heart pounded at the speed of light, 3.00 X 108 m/s, and sweat poured down his temples, drip, drip, drip. He neared the camera, inhaling in anticipation. Passing that angle, Johnson made eye contact with the Riddler, and felt the slight tug of his keys being pulled from his pocket. He exhaled. No alarm had been signaled, yet (the word came as an after thought).

He exited. Another officer entered. Simple seemed an understatement.

To initiate the next sequence, speed was essential. Johnson ran up the staircase three steps at a time. He strode through the main floor to the one bathroom without technological surveillance (all while keeping his wig intact). Entering the restroom, he proceeded to check every stall to ensure vacancy.

Johnson threw his wig in the corner. _Time to turn up the heat._

"Commissioner! There's a fire on the main floor!" Johnson exclaimed, bursting into Gordon's office.

"Has the fire department been notified?" Gordon replied, steeping up from behind his desk already at the door.

"Yes sir, they are currently on their way."

Gordon turned to David, "I want you to evacuate everyone from the second floor," Johnson nodded in confirmation and turned to go. Gordon grasped his arm.

"Commissioner?" Johnson inquired, looking into the man's worried eyes.

"Execute this quietly. We don't want to alarm the public," Gordon ordered softly.

"Of course sir, but what about the Riddler?"

"Leave that to me," Gordon shouted as he walked down the hall.

David began to follow Jim, like a panther hunting its prey. Around them officers continued their daily routine, sheltered from the flames kiss. Johnson knew he would have to get far enough away from the others in order to stop the superior ranking officer from mucking up every thing.

Jim turned the corner. Johnson grabbed a fire extinguisher and continued. Feet separated the two. Johnson's steps grew larger in size -they were encompassing the door down to maximum security. _Now or never Dave. _He leapt forward. Gordon turned in his direction. A mass of red propelled towards the Commissioner's face, and then all grew black.

"Sorry Commissioner, I can't let you do that," Johnson whispered as he passed by.

But he needn't go any further. The Riddler's lanky frame slunk through the basement door.

"Let's go," The Riddler spoke, looking upon the Commissioner. He smiled.

**Please review and let me know what you think, I haven't heard anything from you guys lately and it has me worried...are you enjoying it or is it complete shit?**

**~Cece**


	19. Chapter 18

**As promised here's your other chapter :)**

Midnight is when I woke up. A stack of riffled sheets lay in a pile beside me. I sat up, noticing no pillows were perched on the bed. Running my fingers through my hair I sighed. This had been the fourth time I had awoke during the night.

It was the first disturbing, I saw Bruce getting out of bed (no doubt to prowl the city). With his departure I lost any chance of sleep. At first I didn't worry. Justifications of a felon behind bars succumbed most fears.

Then, I reflected on our bloody partnership. A panicked frenzy blinded my senseless worries. I felt like an officer's wife pacing by the front door, awaiting that moment of relief whenever he would walk inside.

Unfortunately Batman didn't work the average nine to five job. Bruce would stay out all night to do all that he could.

_He should be more careful, _I continued to worry. He was all I had left and the imminent fear of street thugs causing severe damage always snickered in my face –provoking me to do something about it. It would never happen though. Selfishness came to mind in asking Bruce to stay home. He was the one _true_ beacon of hope Gotham required to take control of the daily war between night and day. Although he constantly put his life in the palms of his assailants, Bruce felt the pain was worth the safety of everyone else.

It had taken me two years to reach this epiphany. Many restless nights contributed to it, keeping my mind on a continuous high flashing through moments in the past -that scene where I stormed out of his life, like a coward was on constant replay. I could never see past my own pain. Talk about selfish, eh? _I never even let him explain..._

How could someone who seemed refined, become convoluted enough to walk out on the only person who could identify with their pain –all in spite of course; no remorse whatsoever. I felt like scum.

I stood up. My feet padded along to the kitchen. Maybe a little wine would cure this feeling. After filling a glass to the rim, the patio was my next stop.

At night the grounds complimented the blanket of stars, like icing did to a cake. Never before had I seen a more majestic sight than that of the various hills laden in midnight blue, while milky stripes hid in the crevices. I inhaled deeply, unwinding in the peaceful setting. It was when I took my first sip that I noticed another presence.

"Cabernet Sauvignon, 1814. You have good taste," Batman said as he came from the shadows.

"You mean Alfred has the good pallet, but the details aren't that important. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be saving the world?" I asked taking a few steps closer.

"I'm just checking in on you. How are you feeling?" his voice has lost its edge while he spoke; he became Bruce once more.

"I'm doing better," I replied shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

"Of course you are," he chided, pointing to the alcohol in my hands.

"You have no proof this is wine that I am holding," I countered playfully.

"I saw you pour the glass," he accused, a glimmer in his eye.

"Circumstantial evidence," I smiled.

"Oh really?" Bruce smiled mischievously, reaching for the glass stem.

I instinctively pulled away, allowing his hand to shoot through crisp night air. It was only after my move when I realised that is what he had wanted me to do the entire time. I squealed as I sloshed the wine behind my back. Batman's arms shot around either side of my waist. I decided to spin out of reach once more. This time red fluid pooled on the cement floor and dripped onto both our bodies.

We laughed at the foolishness of the situation, enjoying our company for the first time in ages. I was the first to look up and see his expression, but then I noticed how close our faces were from one another. Bruce was the first to speak.

"I should, um go back," he whispered, pulling away. But I wasn't done with him yet.

"Wait!" I called out, clutching his arm.

He stopped. "Thank-You, for everything," I told him before hesitantly reaching up with my tip toes to kiss his cheek.

A brief smile honoured my action, but it quickly faded with his second departure. I walked through the back door, a blush upon my cheeks. It was at that glorious moment I got the call. Gordon was on the other line.

"Sara, there's no easy way to say this," he spoke, uncertain of whether to tell me the news or not.

Concerned I asked, "Jim is everything ok? Are Martha and the boy's fine?"

"Yes they are, but Sara. Well, uh The Riddler has escaped. I'm sorry."

The last thing I remember is hearing the phone collide with the floor in my instantaneous shock.

**Awe SNAP! So I swear I'll try everything in my power to get the next chapter up next week but life may have other plans, I hope you guys don't hate me for leaving you hanging for almos a month :/ Please let me know what is going on in each and everyone of your beautiful minds as protaining to my story. Love you guys! Peace!**

**~Cece**


	20. Chapter 19

**So I made this chapter extra long so that it could be some sort of sad apology for my abandonment of this story. I've been really bad about updating regularly, I know. I'm also kind of sad that I haven't been hearing from you guys lately...I need to know if you like where its going! I'm really in the dark about your opinions on things, PLEASE speak up, please let me know what you like or hate. Big changes are yet to come in the story, Sara will soon have to be the one saving people instead of Bruce/Batman. Keep me posted on your favorite parts! I'm dying over here!**

I spilt the wine. The contoured glass lay upon its side on the hardwood floor. The stem snapped on impact and wine pooled like blood in its climatic crash. I observed the scene with sullen eyes, for it was the twin of mine own mournful situation.

It was as though I was held captive of a vicious cycle, one that surrounded Gotham and ceased to disappear for more than a year. Annual hurricane seasons did not compare to this dense shroud that carried many to the cemetery –or in this case release few from prison. The only question that remained was who was going to die now?

Vertigo ensued. The den became nothing but a collage of distorted, elongated images. Continuous waves ebbed while I was in the throws of the fitful panic attack. I found myself stumbling towards the stairs like a drunkard, in order to regain balance.

It was Alfred who led me the rest of the way. Dear, sweet Alfred who guided me as if he were a boy scout aiding an elderly woman in a role reversal. His left arm over my shoulder and his right looped through mine tore me from my cataclysmic state of mind. I could feel the world around me once more.

The taste of salt from my tears was bitter against my tongue. The helplessness inside was fed by 'what-if' questions rolling off my brain and out my eyes. What if I hadn't left MCU? What if I had let County take the Riddler to their prison? What if I had had more security detail around him? I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew when I decided to keep the Riddler secure in lock-up, but his escape questioned the authority of the Gotham City Police Department.

"Miss Sara, what ever is the matter?" Alfred spoke, eluding my internal conflict.

Kneeling down on all fours, my shadow darkened the area before me. "Alfred, I've made a mess of everything," I answered turning over a piece of broken glass.

He joined me on the floor, "This old thing?" he asked pointing to the broken goblet in my hand. "I have been waiting for someone to dispose of it for me. The set is obtuse you see, and I thank you for allowing me the chance to buy a new one," Alfred explained offering a smile.

When he looked at my blank face, he lifted my chin, "Chin up my dear. Remember, if one person keeps their head held high, in turn they can help the others whom have resorted to running around helplessly like a chicken without a head," he spoke as if he _knew._

"Thank-You Alfred," I said pulling him into a hug. I stood up and walked towards the door, "Now I must go to MCU," I informed him.

Alfred hesitated a moment after my statement before speaking, "You have been drinking Miss Sara, let me drive you."

I sighed, allowing him to understand the exasperation I was feeling, because we both knew Bruce had told him to watch me closely.

I grabbed both our jackets from the front hall stand and flung Alfred's at him. That was enough of an answer for him.

The usual half-hour drive took an extra fifteen minutes. Alfred stated it was because of traffic, but as I glanced at the speedometer I knew it was because we were only going 40 miles per hour in a 65 zone; looks like he was taking extra precautions.

When we finally parked in front of MCU, I bolted inside the building. It was time to start hunting, but time was also running out.

I walked through with my head high all the way to Jim's office. I slipped through the open door (as per usual), but instead of being greeted by Jim alone, Bruce was standing behind him –not as Batman, but as billionaire tycoon Bruce Wayne.

"Hey Sara," Jim absentmindedly said, walking over and giving me an embrace.

I looked past Jim's shoulders and mouthed, "What are you doing here?" to Bruce.

Through my eyes I pleaded for him to tell me that he had only just found out about the Riddler's escape, for my heart could not take another under-handed, manipulative gesture on his part –even if it was to protect my mentality. _Doesn't he know by now that I will find out in the end?_

I released Jim and walked over to Bruce to relay Gordon's action. In his arms I whispered, "How long have you known?" My grip on his body tightened, "Answer me," I demanded. Bruce simply let go.

Jim coughed. He did that whenever he was uncomfortable. "I have invited Mr. Wayne to investigate with us once more, since he was a successful resource in the search and rescue of your body," Jim spoke, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

I snuck a glance as Bruce, "I believe Mr. Wayne solved riddles. I don't see any here," I spoke sharply.

"I wanted a fresh pair of eyes," The Commissioner spoke with an authority in voice that indicated that ended of the discussion. I nodded in acceptance. "Now if you will excuse me, the press has caught wind of our current predicament and I must release a statement," Jim informed us as he exited the room.

I spun around on my heels awaiting the response of the one man who left me with a thousand questions and doubled dipped my various emotions in our every encounter. _Let him explain. Let him explain this time, _I kept telling myself.

"I found out once I left your side. It seems whoever did this has the perfect sense of when to act," Bruce answered my foreboding question.

He saw the relief flood my eyes and allow fluidity back to my tense muscles once more. The sensation of trust floated along the strong sense of liberation and fear. So, when I flung my arms around Bruce, he recognized that I no longer doubted him. We understood each other again and on both parties I believed it was extremely comforting. My thoughts were reinforced when I felt Bruce's head nestle on mine. I also felt the deep breath resonate in his chest.

"Who would help the Riddler? As I recall, he didn't have any henchmen," I concurred.

"Well, there's one way to find out."

I looked up at Bruce in realization, "The security camera!"

"Do you think it wise to be in a building full of cops, considering the identity of your powerful…err, friend?" I asked Bruce.

Within the confines of the Commissioner's office, we were alone. Jim had left to retrieve the digitalized footage of the Riddler's thirty-two hour vacation in "the pit" –as us fellow cops commonly referred to the basement. We had originally begun our conversation throwing conjectures and various theories of the villain's escape. Now we had resorted to mere chitchat.

"Do you think it wise to be working after your…err, emotional outburst?" he mimicked.

I sat back in the fold-up chair. "Touché," I murmured, rocking back lifting the two front legs of said chair.

I felt a backward force push the chair back on all fours. I glanced sideways at Bruce to see him watching me intently. I also noticed his arm extended behind me, his hand placed firmly on my back. "You honestly aren't worried given the circumstances?" I asked, wringing my hands.

"If they haven't put two-and-two together in the past three years since…" Bruce smirked before he continued, "…my friend came to visit I don't think they will now –no offense to Gotham's finest," he added as an afterthought.

I laced my fingers together and put them in my lap. "So, uh what do I call then? You know, when you're here," I asked spreading my arms wide to encompass the MCU in the gesture.

"I'm the consultant. Mr. Wayne will do just fine," He responded simply. My hands resumed their tumbling.

"Anxious?" Bruce asked pointing to hands.

"I just…I feel like I'm doing nothing by sitting here waiting. Then I'll be sitting here watching a tape while the Riddler's out there doing God knows what," I huffed.

Bruce reached over and grabbed one of my hands. "We'll catch him Sara. I swear," he assured me, squeezing my hand for extra measure.

A knock at the door drew our attention. Jim entered. He had a laptop with him. "Let's see what an hour of transcribing VHS film to digital memory looks like," He spoke up.

"For the time it was worth, it better be damn good," I told him with a small smile and then asked, "How much footage do we have?"

Jim set the laptop on his desk. "The full thirty-two hours. Anyone need to go to the bathroom before we start?" He asked.

Bruce and I shook our head in unison, "Nope!"

After six hours of film and twelve guard changes it was time for a bathroom break. Another six hours and another twelve guard changes, a few familiar faces were seen for round two –we were recycling them. It was at the fourteen-hour mark that the sleeping rounds were initiated. Each person was allotted four hours. While two of us continued watching reality TV à la Riddler, the other would sleep on the couch. Jim and Bruce took first watch.

I found it surprising how easy it was to fall asleep. Given the amount of chaos and conflict within my mind, I guess even that couldn't fight through exhaustion. I was out within five minutes. It seemed like only five minutes when I awoke too. After my stint on the couch, it was Bruce's, and then finally Jim's. Seven hours just like that. No changes on screen. The same twenty-four cops doing the exact same shift –probably implementing the same system as us too.

I stretched my arms above my head for the hundredth time that night. I rubbed my eyes raw. It seemed to help. Especially after I read nine-fifteen a.m. on my watch. Jim still had another forty-five minutes on the couch.

I looked to my left. Bruce was still watching the screen intently. I stood up and paused the screen. "I'm going to get a coffee, would you like some?" I asked walking to the door. "Cop coffee you mean? I'll pass," Bruce replied, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

I returned with two cups anyways. Bruce's eyebrows rose as he grabbed the Styrofoam cup. "Extra sugar to cut the crappy cop coffee flavor," I informed him.

He brought the cup up to his lips and took a long sip. "I don't suppose you've seen your partner lately?" he asked cautiously.

"No, why do you ask?" my voice rose unsteadily. It sounded like I was being strangled.

"He seems to be missing."

"He just lost his son. He could be taking some R & R."

"Sara, this is Gotham we're talking about," he said a little more urgently.

I looked up into his eyes, "What's got you spooked Bruce?"

"I think he may have valuable information about…my friend. It would be inconvenient if Johnson went missing," he informed me.

"What kind of information?" I urged him on.

"Let's just say he's been making conclusions"

"Do you know for sure?" I interrogated.

He looked away from me. "I saw paper clippings and pictures all over his apartment back when you missing," he responded.

I suppressed a groan. "Bruce, that was two weeks ago!" I exclaimed, exasperated.

"Sara…" Bruce started when Jim walked back into his office. He sighed as Jim took a seat to my right.

"Anything change?" Gordon asked.

I shot a look at Bruce and grimaced, "Nope."


End file.
